The Righteous Man in the Grave
by tigercub93
Summary: When Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth arrived in New Harmony, IN to help facilitate a custody dispute over a suspicious grave, neither of them expected to get sucked into a world neither of them truly believed existed. To make matters worse they come face to face with the notorious long-thought-dead serial killer, Sam Winchester. They have something of his, and he isn't happy.
1. Chapter 1

"I don't understand, Booth. Why are we here?" Dr. Temperance Brennan, complained in the car while Booth pulled up to a yellow tape boundary.

"State Officials called it in this morning," Booth stated, nursing a hot cup of coffee as he stepped out of his suburban and into an active excavation site. The early morning call jettisoning them halfway across the country had done little to help him wake up this morning. "They said that two hikers spotted the marker, thought it was suspicious, and called it in. The body that they found was too close to the Illinois/Indiana border. No one wanted to go into a custody war over the body, so they called us to figure out where the body came from so they can determine who's case it is."

"So basically we are their third party investigators?" Bones scowled as she got out of the car. "I am not a third party investigator, Booth. This is a waste of my time."

"You're telling me, I have a pile of paperwork on my desk that is only going to grow while we're here, so lets do this fast and get home," Booth encouraged.

A police officer came up to them at the tape. Booth held up his badge and Brennan showed her ID and the officer lifted the tape to let them through. He pointed towards a clearing in the trees where Brennan and Booth could see the local teams at work.

As they neared the scene, Brennan became agitated

"I want a cleared scene, Booth," Brennan said curtly. "If we are going to be deciding between this stupid turf war, I don't want them over my back."

"Done and done," Booth drawled.

Brennan ignored the forensic teams there and made her way to the grave while Booth cleared the local PD from the site.

"Dr. Brennan," a middle aged man in a forensics' suit nervously called.

"Yes, who are you?"

The middle-aged man smiled and stuck out a latex gloved hand, "Dr. Hampton, head of New Harmony's forensic unit. It's an honor to meet you."

Brennan gave a grimace of a smile to the man and walked past him, ignoring his gesture. She stopped when she saw that the remains had been taken from the grave and laid next to it on a plastic tarp.

"I hope you have taken pictures of how the remains were before you moved it," She spoke quickly and angrily. "You people called us here to investigate this body, and yet you couldn't leave it alone for us to work with? You very well could have contaminated the evidence."

Dr. Hampton stuttered nervously, "Oh, don't worry Dr. Brennan. We followed all procedures to a 'T'"

Dr. Brennan considered the man for a moment before moving deciding that arguing further would be counterproductive and take more time than needed. Settling down next to a grave that couldn't be more than four feet deep, Dr. Temperance Brennan considered the deteriorating remains in front of her.

Turning to Booth, who had gotten the local teams to start leaving the scene, Brennan began detailing what she saw. "This man is approximately 26-30 years of age judging by the musculature and dental wear. Judging by the beginning of dry decay and the shallowness of the grave, I would estimate that he died about four months ago." Lifting up the material of the shirt, Brennan motioned to the obvious wounds on the decomposed tissue and ribs. "There also seem to be multiple lacerations in the tissue, some even appear to have reached the bones some. The pattern of lacerations resembles an animal attack, but I cannot say for certain without bringing the body back to my lab."

"We don't really need to figure out what killed him, just who he is," Booth reminded her, but she was determined to figure out all she could.

"Well, there are no tears in his clothes, but there is serious damage to his body, so someone obviously took care when they buried him. Like I said, Booth. My team and I need to examine the remains more carefully before we can make an accurate statement on who this man was and whether or not this man was murdered," She sighed and looked up at Booth, "But homicide or not, this man died in extreme agony."

Brennan's face crinkled in pity looking at the body of the young man. Her active mind began mapping the exposed wounds and formed an all too graphic picture of the man's death. She shuddered involuntarily. No matter who this man was, no one deserved to die like that.

"Glad to have you back Dr. Brennan, " Clarke, Brennan's current intern, called from the platform as she swiped her card and walked up the stairs. "The remains arrived about an hour ago. Hodgins and Ms. Montenegro are already working on their tasks."

"That's great. Now Clarke please clean the wounds and give any particulates to Hodgins before you strip the tissue."

"Already done Dr. Brennan, Hodgins has the particulates running now. I am going to go to the Bone Room to see if I can match the claw pattern," Clarke replied carrying a folder of X-Rays out off of the platform.

Angela passed him on the stairs and waved at Brennan.

"Hey Ange, how are you coming on the facial reconstruction?" Brennan asked hopeful that they could finally put a face and name to their victim.

"I was just coming up to show you! This is what our victim would probably have looked like." Pressing some buttons on the computer a facial reconstruction appeared on the screen.

The man's jaw was square and strong, high cheekbones that any model would die for, a straight nose, and soft slightly pouted lips made for a very attractive rendering.

"I know it's sad no matter what, but he was really good looking, like REALLY good looking, I don't know if my boy-crazy heart can handle this tragedy."

Brennan rolled her eyes at her friend and looked back to the screen, considering the rendering. Angela was right, and there was no mistake in her work, their victim had been a very attractive man. Brennan could tell from his bone structure alone.

"What are you guys doing?" Booth's voice appeared from behind them. "Is that our victim?" He asked gesturing to the screen.

"Yes, Angela just finished. We were complementing his very symmetrical bone structure."

"So you think he was hot?" Booth asked with a quirk of an eyebrow and a smirk. He took a glance at the rendering again, but his smirk fell as a strange feeling of recognition pulled at his mind.

"Hold on," Booth almost whispered. "I think I recognize him."

Brennan's eyebrows crinkled as she watched her partner stare at the screen. "You know him?"

"I'm not sure," Booth answered in a low voice. He searched his memory, knowing that he had seen this man's face somewhere.

"Where would you have seen him?" Brennan asked. "Did he work at the FBI?"

"Maybe in an ad as a model?" Angela asked with a smirk, but it fell when Booth's face turned stone serious.

"The FBI…" Booth's eyes moved back and forth as if trying to look into the past to find their victim, and then the realization hit him. "Holy shit."

"What?" Brennan exclaimed.

Booth turned to look at the body, disbelief lighting his eyes and anger deepening the creases near his mouth.

"When did you say he died Bones?"

"Approximately four months ago,"

"And he didn't die in an explosion." It wasn't a question.

"No, absolutely not, why would you think that? Booth, who is he?"

"It's impossible," he walked closer to the body on the table and leaned in. "You died seven months ago in an explosion in Colorado, this can't be you. Can it?"

Frustration and impatience getting the better of her, Brennan grabbed Booth's shoulder, "Booth, who is he?"

Wide-eyed, Booth turned from the body. "This is Dean Winchester."

"Who is Dean Winchester?"

"Probably one of the most infamous criminals the bureau has ever had to chase."

Angela's eyes flicked to the facial reconstruction on the computer. "Him?"

Booth gave a wry smile, "Don't let the pretty face fool you Ange. Remember, Bundy was attractive too."

Her eyes grew, making them impossibly large. "He was a serial killer?" She took an instinctive step backwards away from the body, as if even in death he was dangerous. Booth mused that if what he heard about this Winchester was true, then that might be a smart move.

"A very violent and unpredictable serial killer," Booth explained through a strained breath. "He was reported to have died about seven months ago in a gas explosion in a police station in Colorado. Killed everyone in the building, four FBI agents, six cops, one civilian, and supposedly Dean's brother, but now I'm not so sure that Sam died there."

"That's why you asked about an explosion," Brennan supplied, answering her previous question. "But he didn't."

"Huh-?" Booth asked, distracted by his own thoughts on who buried Dean, making an educated guess that it had been Sam. _Who else would care for a monster other than another monster_?

"An explosion, he didn't die in one. He was mauled to death by an animal."

"Yeah, well he had a habit of faking his own death to avoid capture, guess the third times the charm." Booth laughed to himself while Angela and Brennan shared a confused look.

Hodgins interrupted Booth's thoughts when he ran up on the platform, "So I ran the particulates that Clarke sent me, and this is what I got."

Not even looking at what was on the screen, he hit a few keys on the computer and a graph of elements replaced Dean's facial reconstruction.

"You know how most animals leave hair, bits of their claws, or even some skin in the wounds? The only thing I found in this guy's wounds was sulfur. How weird is that?" He turned around to face the group, his hands on his hips, curiosity and excitement lighting his eyes. "I mean what does that? I have a theory."

Booth rolled his eyes, "Oh here we go."

"No, no listen," Hodgins said quickly. "Legends say that sulfuric residue was evidence of demonic presence."

"So you are saying a demon killed him?" Booth asked with a quirk of an eyebrow.

Brennan shook her head. "There is no such thing as demons, Hodgins. I would prefer if you kept your hypothesis to the realm of reality."

Hodgins looked around at his teammates, all looking at him like he was an escaped mental patient, _probably wouldn't know a real demon if it bit them in the persqueeter_. A quote from an old friend ran through his mind, and Hodgins gave up on trying to convince them. With a cynical smile, Hodgins asked, "Alright, where do you think the sulfur came from?"

"Maybe the animal walked through sulfur before it attacked him," Brennan supplied. "It would explain how the sulfur ended up on the animals claws and into his wounds."

"Have we found his name, yet?" Hodgins asked rolling his eyes at Brennan's theory.

"We found more than that," Angela said with a grimace.

"Let's just say, this is most definitely our case now," Booth replied vaguely.

Brennan turned around to address Clarke, who had just returned, "Clarke have we figured out what kind of animal killed our victim?'

Clarke gave an exasperated sigh, "That is the thing Dr. Brennan. I couldn't. There is no animal with a documented claw pattern like this one." He walked to the body and motioned towards the large gashes through the deteriorating skin and its damage through to the bone. "There is no animal that I can find whose claws would match the pattern made on our victim's bones. The placements of the lacerations suggest some kind of dog or wolf, but the size is completely wrong. If it was a wolf or some kind of rabid dog, it would have to have been at least the size of a small horse." He lifted his hand to about mid ribcage range. "At least this tall."

"Geez," Hodgins sighed rubbing his hand over his chest, sympathizing with their victim. It must have been a terrible way to die.

"Could it have been a bear?" Booth asked with furrowed brows.

Clarke answered with a shake of the head, "The pattern is all wrong, the size is about right though."

"So we are looking at a bear-sized dog as the killer of one of FBI's most wanted."

"Most wanted?" Hodgins asked in surprise.

"Oh yeah," Angela answered with a grimace. "Our 'victim', aka Dean Winchester, was a serial killer."

Hodgin's mouth dropped and his eyes shot over to the body decomposing on the table. Disbelief and grief painted his face, "Winchester? Oh god, no."


	2. Chapter 2

"What do you want Bobby?" Sam asked through gritted teeth. The last three months Bobby has been pretty hands-off, letting him deal in his grief, or more appropriately his revenge, in his own way; however, twenty consecutive calls was a bit much even for Bobby.

"We got a problem," Bobby's gruff voice came through the phone. It was heavy with the obviously bad news that he didn't want to have to share with Sam.

"What is it?" Sam hoped it was a lead on Lilith, his need for vengeance was almost as strong as his addiction to Ruby's blood. He shuddered at the thought still, _If Dean ever found out_, he thought, but quickly shut it down. Dean would never find out because he was dead, burning in Hell for him. It was Sam's turn now to save his brother, and he would do whatever it took. _And I mean whatever it takes_.

Sam was so caught up in thoughts of his brother and revenge that he almost missed Bobby when he said, "They took your brother, Sam."

"What are you talking about, Bobby?" Sam asked, frustrated. The last thing he wanted to talk about was Dean, and the last person he wanted to talk about Dean with was Bobby. His grief was still too strong, too painful to even be put into words.

Sam was about to hang up when Bobby replied, "Someone found his grave, and the police took him."

Sam was silent in shock and rage while Bobby took a breath to steady himself. It was hard enough talking about Dean being dead, but this just made things worse. Opened old wounds and poured acid into them.

"Ellen called, she had gone to visit the—uh—the grave," he choked, "but when she got there, there were police cruisers and what she found out to be an FBI team from Washington D.C. exhuming the grave."

Sam was silent, and Bobby let the news sink in a little before he asked, "Sam, did you hear me?"

"Yeah I heard you Bobby," Sam's voice was quiet. It was a scary quiet, one that whispered anger and death.

"Now, boy, don't you go doin' nothin' stupid," Bobby almost yelled. He could practically hear the cogs in Sam's head spinning and heat rising in anger. Bobby had been with the Winchester's long enough to get nervous when those boys got quiet.

Loud and angry was one thing. That was how they were on a daily basis, kind of their base level. It was the silence, the lockdown of emotions, the deadly level of skill that scared him shitless. It was this silence that made them famous in the hunting world, made them infamous in the supernatural world.

Sam's silence made Bobby's skin crawl.

"Where did they take him?" Sam's voice was level and practically monotonous.

"Nuh-uh boy, I ain't tellin' you that," Bobby's voice was low and authoritative. "I know you Sam. I tell you where they took Dean, and you're goin' to go after him and do something stupid."

"Bobby," Sam's voice was ice cold.

Bobby's blood went cold along with it.

"Where did they take my brother?" Sam asked again. "I will find out anyway, you know that better than anyone now. Just tell me where they took him, so I can get him back." Sam's voice broke a little on the last word. "I am going to get him back whether you help me or not."

Bobby sighed, knowing full well that Sam would eventually hack his way to the information he wanted. "The team tasked to him is a special forensics unit through the Jeffersonian Institute in D.C.. That's where they took your brother's—" Bobby stopped. "He's in D.C. I'm sorry, son."

"Don't be sorry for me, Bobby," Gone was the grief in his words replaced again by the ice. "Be sorry for the ones that took him."

The line went dead. Bobby took the phone away from his ear, looked at it for a moment, and then threw it on the desk in exasperation. He rubbed his face with his hands.

"Those damn boys are going to be the end of me," he whispered fighting down burning tears.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hodgins?" Angela asked, concern obvious in her voice. "Baby, what is it?"

Pointing to the body, Hodgins asked in shock, "Are you sure that is Dean Winchester, like 100% sure?"

Angela walked over to the computer and pulled up the facial reconstruction, "Booth said it looked like him. We are still waiting on DNA to confirm, but yeah we're pretty sure."

Hodgin's barely listened when the face appeared on the screen. He stared in horror at the computerized face of the man that saved his life three years ago, the man that believed him about what was really going on in the world, the man that became his friend. He turned slowly to the body on the table, grimacing at the remains of his friend, but unable to look away.

"Hodgins?" Angela repeated, breaking his concentration on the body of his friend. He finally noticed that his team was staring at him confusion on their faces.

"Did you know him?" Booth asked incredulously.

Hodgins furrowed his brow seemingly lost in thought, but managed to nod confirmation.

Booth's eyebrows shot upwards, "How did you know him?" He practically yelled; however, Hodgins wasn't listening anymore. His eyes had grown the size of plates and he whispered three words so low that the team barely heard them, "Sulfur, Hellhounds," a pause then in a whispered gasp, "Sam." Hodgins bolted off the platform towards his lab.

Booth ran after him and found him in his lab rummaging through his desk drawers.

"You want to tell me how you know a dead serial killer?" Booth asked almost accusingly.

Hodgins stopped his search dead when he heard Booth's question. Turning on Booth, anger burned in Hodgins' eyes so fiercely that Booth took a step back.

"Dean was NOT a serial killer," He almost spat. "Dean Winchester was a hero."

"I have an entire case file that will be on its way here soon that'll say otherwise."

"Well I'm pretty sure that him saving my life nearly at the cost of his own is enough evidence for me, thank you."

"He saved your life? From what?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, trust me. I didn't believe it until it was trying to kill me."

"And Dean Winchester saved you from it?"

"That's his job," Hodgins explained, resuming his search through his desk drawers. "The family business he called it."

Booth had heard about the Winchester family's apparent hero-complex, thinking they were saving people from supernatural monsters. It wasn't too much of a stretch for Booth to think that Hodgins would believe in the supernatural, but he wouldn't support a serial killer for no reason. Had he been conned?

"What are you looking for?" Booth asked.

"The number," Hodgins answered absently, lost in his task.

"Who's number?" Booth asked again, "Not Dean's?"

"Why would I call Dean's phone? He's dead." Hodgins said plainly, but sadness tinged his eyes. "No, I'm looking for—Aha!" he shouted triumphantly as he found an old cigar box with a skull and two muskets making the crossbones decorating the top. "Fitting hiding place, huh?"

"You are telling me you have Sam Winchester's phone number?"

"Oh no, Dean said he and his brother change phones all the time so it was no use giving them that number in case I needed them, no this is a friend with a permanent address that I could call if I noticed anything again." He noticed Booth's fascination with the box in his hand.

"No, Booth, " He said firmly. "I can't let you take it."

"Sam Winchester is a wanted fugitive. You hiding that number and keeping it from the authorities can be considered obstruction of justice. Give it to me Hodgins."

"This won't tell you where Sam is, this is just an entrance to their network. The beginning of a chain in case I was trouble. You can't find them through it, Booth. I swear it wouldn't have helped you 'catch' them."

"It's evidence," Booth continued.

"Can you at least let me find out if my friend is alive!?" Hodgins yelled.

Booth sighed and gave a small nod, "Five minutes, then I want that number." Booth turned around and saw Angela and Brennan standing in the doorway watching the altercation.

"Did you know about this?" He asked Angela.

She shook her head slightly, "I had no idea. He sometimes saw something in the paper and would tell me these fantastic theories about what he thought 'really' had done it, but he never mentioned the Winchesters or anything like that. I can't believe he'd be involved with people like that"

"Whatever he is involved in," Booth whispered, motioning for all of them to give Hodgins a little space, "it is _very_ serious."

Hodgins opened the box and took out the slip of paper with Bobby's phone number. Picking up the phone he dialed with trembling fingers.

"Yeah?" A gruff voice came over the line.

"Bobby Singer?" Hodgins asked, relieved that at least this time someone answered the phone.

"Who wants to know?" The voice answered defensively.

"My name is Jack Hodgins, I got this number from Dean Winchester a couple of years ago," he paused hoping Bobby wouldn't hang up on him.

"What do you need, son," Bobby replied, a sad twinge had taken to his voice.

"I know about Dean. I am really sorry" Hodgins said in a low voice. "Do you know if Sam is alright?"

"Yeah, Sam's alive," Bobby's answer was low. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, OK this is probably going to sound weird, but I work at this research facility in D.C.—"

"Not the Jeffersonian?" Bobby interrupted.

"Yeah, how'd you know," Hodgins asked surprised. He suspected these people to be resourceful, but not to this level.

"Same way I know that Dean's body was just taken there for investigation by the FBI."

"How did you know that?"

"Good timing." Was the only explanation that Hodgins received.

"I gotta warn ya kid, I ain't the only one that knows Dean is there," Bobby's gruff voice sounded hurried and anxious. "Sam found out, and he's on his way there now. I don't know where he was when he found out, but regardless he is heading to you."

"What? Really?" Hodgins asked almost excited, but caution took over when the tone of Bobby's words showed the warning they were.

"He's pissed isn't he?"

"Beyond pissed, boy," Bobby admitted with almost a scoff. "If I know that boy, and I do, then he won't let anything stand between him and his brother. He didn't take it too kindly when I told him that you lot were exhuming his brother's grave."

"About that, Bobby," Hodgins began. "Why was Dean buried? When they saved me, they explained the whole salt and burn thing. Why did Sam bury Dean?"

"That, son, you will have to ask Sam," Bobby's voice was heavy with grief.

"You were close to Dean weren't you?" Hodgins asked quietly.

"Like my son," Bobby admitted, surprising himself and even Hodgins. "Alright, Jack, I gotta go, I'm going to give you Sam's number in case you think you can call him off or something, but you be careful with him. I don't think he is thinking straight." Bobby then rattled off some numbers that Hodgins quickly committed to memory, not willing to risk a repeat performance of Booth's earlier demands.

"Don't worry, Bobby, I'll look after him," Hodgins promised. Seeing that Booth was heading back to his lab, Hodgins quickly added, "Bobby, before I forget, you probably want to ditch this number."

"And why is that?" Old man sass dripping from his words. Hodgins almost laughed, Dean's description of Bobby was spot on.

"Well the FBI agent I work with may or may not have found out I have this number. Just thought I'd warn you." Then Hodgins hung up.

Bobby dropped the phone on the ground and stomped on it till it was barely recognizable. "Idjit," he scoffed, shaking his head.


	4. Chapter 4

"Is Sam alive?" Booth asked with a furious tone. He was done waiting and still couldn't believe that Hodgins had anything to do with the men that killed four FBI agents.

"Yeah he's alive," Hodgins admitted. Fear clutched at his heart for both Sam and his team. He knew the Winchesters well enough to know how determined they were when they set their minds to it, and as scary as Dean could be, Sam was downright terrifying when he needed to be. Probably all of that height, but Hodgins worried what Sam would do to get his brother back.

"Give me the number Hodgins," Booth's command snapped Hodgins out of his battle planning.

Reluctantly, Hodgins handed over the now useless slip of paper, "They aren't what you think, Booth. You have to trust me."

Booth scoffed, "Trust you? Hodgins they have killed a lot of people. You know they probably set off that explosion in Colorado, killing at least 12 people. 12 people Jack."

"They wouldn't do that. They aren't killers; I mean they don't kill people. They protect them," Hodgins defended. He couldn't believe that the men who saved his life could be considered killers. Yeah they killed supernatural things, but they would never harm a human. It sat uncomfortably that the people whom he respected and cared for were talking about two of his friends like they were nothing more than the monsters that they hunted and burned.

"Protect them from what. Demons? I've read their files Hodgins. They are clinically insane, and it appears they've dragged you down with them."

"You haven't seen what I have seen Booth, otherwise you wouldn't be so close-minded," Hodgins spat, his patience running out.

Booth closed the distance between himself and Hodgins and pointed a finger into Hodgins' chest, "I want to know about your time with them."

Hodgins brushed it off and tried to walk away. Booth grabbed his arm and pulled him backwards. Hodgins glanced down at the hand squeezing his arm.

"You wont believe me. Just know that I got stuck in a situation with a creature I had no chance of defending myself against. Sam and Dean came and saved my ass, and asked for nothing in return," Hodgins contended. He wasn't going to back down. Luckily that was one of his more useful personality traits, he was like a dog with a bone.

Booth let go of Hodgins' arm and stepped back. Putting his hands on his hips, Booth questioned with a quirked eyebrow, "What was this _creature_? I don't care if I don't believe you, Hodgins, just tell me."

Hodgins sighed and looked directly at Booth, "It was a demon."

Booth scoffed, "A demon? Like an actual horned demon?"

"No, they aren't comical like that. It possessed a person. Demons in their real state are no more than a black smoke. It shoves its way down your throat and then takes over your body, makes you do things, say things you never would have done."

"Who was this _demon_ possessing?" Booth asked incredulously.

"I don't know who it was, but it attacked me outside my house three years ago. Sam and Dean had been tracking it for a while, they fought it and saved my life. Dean got pretty beat up so I took them back into my house and let them rest there. I ended up helping them with their investigation and they found the group of demons they were looking for and stopped them."

"And by stopped them, you mean…"

"They were able to exorcise some," Hodgins' stopped, unsure if he should finish his sentence. "But others they killed," he admitted. It was a mistake, probably, to say that, but he believed in Sam and Dean and he hoped that if Booth saw how far he went to protect them that he would recognize that there must be some validity to their claims about the supernatural.

"Killed, and the person that demon was 'possessing?'" Booth used handquotes to show how much he believed Hodgins' story. "Yeah that's what I thought. See they're killers."

Anger rising again, Hodgins spat, "So are you then."

Booth was taken aback, "Excuse me?"

Hodgins stepped towards Booth, his heartbeat rising as his excitement and anger got the best of him, "You have killed to save others, so have Sam and Dean. If that meant that they were killers, then you are too."

Booth got quiet, "It's not the same Hodgins,"

"Whatever you say Booth," Hodgins dismissed him. If only Booth could see how much he respected both him and the Winchesters. If only Booth knew how much of a compliment he gave the Winchesters when he compared them to Booth and vice versa.

Taking a deep breath, Booth turned to walk towards the door to Hodgins' lab, but before he left he turned. "Hodgins, you do realize that if they really did kill those people and you helped them, you could be charged with accessory and I would have to arrest you?" Booth asked, incredulously. He watched as Hodgins' eyes widened and his lips tightened. Obviously he hadn't thought of that. Booth sighed, "Get back to work Hodgins,"

"When Sam finds out we have taken Dean from his grave, he's gonna be pissed," Hodgins stated.

Booth's smile looked like someone had challenged him to a game, confident and eager. "Then he can take it up with me, my 9mm, and a pair of handcuffs," he said as he walked out of Hodgins' lab. Sliding the door closed and walking towards where Angela and Brennan stood waiting.

A/N Yeah I know, Booth seemed like a total jerk in this part. I know he's a lovable guy and I was worried about him seeming OOC in this part but the way I see it, right now Booth doesn't believe that Sam and Dean are anything but psycho killers. The fact that Hodgins is saying they are heroes and he helped them is giving Booth flashbacks to when Zach helped Gormogon. He's worried and angry and disappointed, and he's trying to figure out if he needs to arrest one of his best friends. Any of that is liable to make him a bit touchy.


	5. Chapter 5

Hodgins stepped out of his lab and headed towards the bathroom. Angela saw him leave and made to come talk to him, but Hodgins shook his head. He didn't watnt to talk to her at the moment. Not until he could wrap his mind around what he was going to do about the two worlds he desperately tried to keep separate now violently colliding.

Hodgins breathed a sigh of relief when he opened the bathroom door to find it empty. Pulling out his cellphone, Hodgins dialed the number Bobby gave him and waited with a held breath as he pressed the phone tightly to his ear, the dull trill of the ringtone echoing painfully loud.

"Hello?" A flat voice answered.

"Sam?"

"Who is this?" Sam's voice was lifeless, but the relief that Hodgins' felt soared.

Trying to keep a smile on his face, Hodgins continued. "Hey Sam. This is Jack Hodgins, I helped you and your brother a few years back with the demons in D.C."

Hodgins heard Sam take a deep intake of breath. "Yeah I remember you, Jack, what do you want? Not another demon is it, cuz I'm in the middle of something right now."

"Yeah I know," Hodgins admitted with a sigh.

"You know what?" Sam asked, suspicious.

"I work at the Jeffersonian Sam," Hodgins admitted. He held the phone away from his ear, expecting Sam to blow up.

Sam let out a low curse, "Sonuva- Tell me why I shouldn't hang up on you right now?"

"I am so sorry Sam, I didn't know," Hodgins began to speak quickly, he unconsciously began pacing back and forth in front of the stalls. "I do know that you are on your way here, but I need to warn you to stay away."

"You have my brother, you really think I am going to do that?" Ice crept into Sam's voice. It made the hairs on Hodgins' neck stand straight.

"They figured out it was your brother, Sam. The FBI is crawling all over the place now. You come here, you get arrested," Hodgins warned.

Sam scoffed, "I'd like to see them try."

Hodgins stopped pacing around the bathroom, "No, Sam, the agent in charge I know him. I work with him regularly. He is not someone to take lightly"

There was silence on the end of the line. Hodgins hoped that Sam hadn't hung up

"Sam?" He asked, hopeful.

"They have my brother. That should be answer enough," and with that the line went dead.

Hodgins looked down at the phone with a grimace before putting it away and exiting the bathroom with a curse under his breath.

Walking back to his lab, Hodgins tried to figure out what to do. _Do I warn Booth and risk getting Sam arrested and most probably sent to prison for the rest of his life or worse, executed? Or do I help Sam come and take back Dean's body and risk another Zach-like incident?_ Hodgins sighed internally,_ These are my two options. They will either end up with me fired or on the shit list for every hunter on this side of the country_. Hodgins paused and gulped as he thought of those prospects.

As Hodgins sat at his desk, watching his coworkers and friends work over the body of one of his heroes, these thoughts tumbled through his head, highlighting the awful decision he would have to make. His eyes travelled down to the grisly and decomposing remains of a man who he considered a friend and hero.

Hodgins slowly realized that he and his team had taken Dean from his rest. Yanked his body from its proper place in its grave. There was nothing for them to investigate, Hodgins realized. Sam had no doubt hunted down the creature that had killed his brother and eviscerated it. With that thought, Hodgins made his decision. With hasty fingers, Hodgins hit redial.

"Sam," Hodgins called desperately

Sam didn't even have to say anything for Jack to hear that he was annoyed. "Don't try to warn me off, Jack. I am coming for my brother—"

"Sam, shut up. If you want to get your brother out of here, you are going to need my help," Hodgins held his breath, and his heart seemed to stop as he realized that he had actually said what he thought he just said.

"You'd help me?" Hodgins could hear the disbelief in Sam's voice, and the suspicion that tainted the tail end of the question.

Hodgins knew he had to assure Dean that he wasn't going to turn him in or trick him. "You and Dean saved my life. The least that I can do is help you get your brother back to rest."

Hodgins heard a sigh from Sam's end.

"Thank you Jack, I know this is going to put you in a lot of trouble if we get caught."

"Well then, lets not get caught, ok?"

"Where are you and how fast can you get to DC?"

"Uh, I should be about ten hours from DC," "I'll get in tomorrow morning"

"You aren't going to stop for the night? Sam you should at least get a full night's rest before you try to break in here."

"Who said anything about breaking in?"

"Um what else are you going to do, last I remember you're pretty rememberable. All 6'4" of you. You're planning on, what, just waltzing through the front doors and whisking Dean out of here?"

"Pretty much yeah."

"Okay, then."

"Don't worry Jack. I'll call you when I get to town. We'll meet and I'll tell you what you should do."

"Do you need me to bring the schematics of the building or something?"

"No need, Jack Ryan. It's a publicly owned building. The schematics are online. If you know how to find them."

" That's oddly disconcerting. What are you going to need me to do?"

"Just wait for my call, Hodgins. Get back to work, don't let anyone think you're being suspicious." Sam was about to hang up when he remembered. "Oh and Hodgins?"

"Yeah?"

Sam's voice broke as he tried to word what he wanted.

"What is it Sam?"

"Try to keep my brother in one piece? Don't let them do too much to him. I want to keep him as whole as possible."

Hodgins' eyes widened as he saw Clarke beginning to prep the boiler that would take the tissue from the bones.

"Uh, will do. Gotta go, Sam. Bye!" He abruptly ended the call and bolted out of the room. He nearly forgot to swipe his card before bolting up the steps.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Sorry y'all. Made a mistake in the uploading of this chapter. I got a bit disorganized. Hope this is right. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

"Dr. Hodgins, where have you been?"

His breath heaved as he looked around at his coworkers. They all eyed him with obvious concern on their faces. Excuses rolled through his mind faster than he could put them together.

"I had to call my toilet," came tumbling out of his mouth before he could make sense of the sentence. "Uh, I mean. I was in the bathroom."

He glanced towards Dean's body, and came up with an idea. "It's been hard to see him like that," he said with a gesture towards the body. "It unsettled my stomach."

Angela's face pinched in concern, she came over and put her arms around him. Her natural nurturing character saved him from future embarrassment. He took the few moments he had while hugging her to formulate a plan. When she released him and squeezed his shoulders, a plan, albeit a crazy one, was ready in his mind.

"I need a little more time with the tissue before we remove it from the bones," he admitted.

"I thought you had completed your examination of him Dr. Hodgins," Brennan countered, skeptical.

_Crap they aren't buying it_.

"I only had time to examine the particulates in the wounds on his chest before I found the sulfur the first time. There are the wounds on his back and on his leg that I need to collect particulates from, and then there are his clothes."

Brennan conceded that it would be best to be thorough, especially with a case this sensitive. "All right. I'll have to tell Clarke that there won't be enough time today to strip the bones. We'll do that tomorrow, so finish your examination by tonight."

Before she walked down the stairs to let Hodgins do his work, Brennan turned around and stated, "Hodgins I should have you step down from this case. There is obvious conflict of interest. I trust that you will do your job at the level of expertise that I am used to, but if I suspect there is anything off about your work, we will remove you from the case. Do you understand?"

Hodgins gave a small nod of agreement while pulling on a pair of blue latex gloves. The others left the platform, letting Hodgins work by himself, but Angela stayed. She watched with concern as Hodgins considered the remains in front of him, the remains of his friend. With the gentleness that one would normally afford a newborn child, Hodgins slowly turned the remains over, exposing the wounds on Dean's decomposing back.

"You don't have to do this," Angela said with a soft voice.

Hodgins looked up from the body with a frown, "Yeah, I do."

"No, you don't. He was your friend, something I still don't understand, but regardless you shouldn't have to see him like this."

Hodgins stared at the woman in front of him. Her warmth and acceptance loosened some of the knots that had begun to form in his body. "I wouldn't want anyone else to do this to him."

Angela nodded. Complete understanding written on her face. "Is what Booth said about him true?"

Hodgins heart soared when he heard her ask that. Of course Angela would be the only one to see that there was a reason that he was so adamant about Dean's innocence.

"Not at all," Hodgins started. He put down the swab he had been using. "I don't expect any of you to believe in all of the stuff I was saying about the supernatural, but even without all of that stuff, its clear in the case file that Sam and Dean weren't the bad guys."

Angela smirked, "You've read their case files?"

Hodgins smiled back at her, and responded with a feigned affronted "Duh"

"I don't even want to know how you got that," she said with a resigned laugh. "Just so you know, I think Booth went back to the FBI to report that we have Dean's body. They are going to reopen the case."

"I figured they would."

"They're going to interrogate you, Hodgins," she stated with concern tightening her voice. "I don't think it was a good idea to give Booth that number."

"I know, but I wasn't really thinking straight when I ran for it. All I could think of was seeing if Sam was all right."

"And is he?"

"I don't know, I didn't get to talk to him."

"Not even in the bathroom?"

"What are you talking about?"

"C'mon, I know you better than that, and the bathroom? Really?" She chastised. "Booth nearly followed you in there, but I convinced him that you weren't doing anything nefarious. Just working out your new grief."

Hodgins beamed at his wife's brilliance. "I love you."

"I know," Angela replied with a proud smile. "So, what did Sam say?"

Hodgins considered telling Angela the whole truth for a brief moment, but he wanted to protect her and their son from the actions he was about to destroy himself with. She had to have deniability, and telling her would only put her at risk. He hated keeping secrets from Angela, but what was worse is that he was crap at it too.

"I don't really want to talk about it," he said with a heavy voice. His eyes fell from Angela back to his work. He gently swabbed the large laceration that had mutilated Dean's back. Shivers went up his spine as the mental image of a monstrous dog tore at Dean's back. He didn't even notice that his hands were shaking until Angela's hands, covered in latex gloves that he didn't see her put on, covered his.

"I think you should leave this until tomorrow."

"But Dr. Brennan wants it done tonight."

"Come in early tomorrow to do it, but you can't do this now," She gently took the swab and the evidence dish from Hodgins' hands. "Let's call it a night."

"Yeah, good idea." Hodgins peeled off his gloves and followed Angela out of the lab. Hodgins wrapped one arm around Angela's waist and his other hand went into his pocket and wrapped around his cellphone. He knew that regardless of how long his son, Michael, slept tonight, Hodgins would be up all night. He would be up waiting for the call that would probably end his career. He just hoped Sam knew what he was doing.


	7. Chapter 7

Hodgins and Angela make it home in time to put Michael to bed, and Angela gets ready to take an early night.

"You coming to bed anytime soon?" She called quietly to her husband. He was sitting in Michael's room, watching with a soft smile as his son dreamed.

Hodgins turned to look at Angela. "I'm not very tired right now, you go ahead. I might sleep on the couch so I don't wake you up."

Angela's eyebrows furrowed in concern. It was unlike him to even consider sleeping on the couch unless she had kicked him out of the bed, which happened every once and a while. It wasn't something he did voluntarily, but Angela figured that he wanted to be alone to grieve for his friend so she didn't push.

"Just don't stay up too late," she said with a quick kiss to his head.

The hours passed slowly and in mindless planning. It was about 1:30 in the morning. Hodgins had been sitting quietly in Michael's room, fixing him a bottle or soothing him back to sleep before his phone began to vibrate. Quickly stepping out of the room so he didn't wake Michael up, Hodgins answered the call.

"Sam?"

"Jack, you ready for this?"

"As ready as ever I guess."

"You don't have to do this, man. I appreciate it, but you're putting yourself at risk. You can just let me do it myself."

"You'd never make it into the building," Hodgins sighed. "Trust me I've thought about every other way."

"Okay then. Meet me in the parking garage to the south of the Jeffersonian lab building in twenty minutes," Sam directed. "Call me when you're there."

Hodgins quietly left his house and his family and drove into dark of the wee hours of the morning. What Hodgins didn't see was the headlights of the black Toyota Sequoia carefully trailing him all the way to the Jeffersonian.

* * *

"Sam, hey man," Hodgins greeted with a tired smile. Sam shook Hodgins' outstretched hand firmly. If Hodgins thought he looked tired, then Sam looked dead. Dark circles painted his eyes almost making him look like he had gone eight rounds with a demon and lost.

"So, how are we going to do this?" Hodgins asked nervously.

"Well we need to first get in. I'm assuming there is security?"

"Yes but its all automatic, this late at night there are no people actually in the building patrolling.

"That doesn't seem safe."

"Yeah you haven't seen our security system."

"Wait, if you use your security access, they're going to know that it was you that let me in. You'll go to jail."

"Yeah I did put those two together."

"And what, you are just okay with that?" Sam asked in disbelief. "Jack, what the hell are you doing?"

"I just can't leave him in there okay. He shouldn't be here. It's not our business," Hodgins rambled before stopping and taking a deep breath. "I just owe you and Dean my life."

"You don't owe us that much of your life," Sam argued. He noticed the gold ring on Hodgins' left ring finger. "Hodgins, you have a family. You can't do this. Go home back to your wife."

"And tell her what? That I abandoned my friend who saved my life? How can I tell my son to be a loyal friend if I abandon mine when they need me."

Sam sighed and nodded. He knew he wasn't going to argue Hodgins down. He remembered that Hodgins was like a dog with a bone, there was no taking it away from him.

Sam listened to Jack speak of honor and loyalty, but an idea had ignited in the back of his mind. He let Hodgins finish when he said with a wry smile, "I have an idea."

Hodgins eyebrows shot up, "What?"

"Do you have an access code or just a card to swipe?"

"Just a card, why?" Hodgins said, handing the card to Sam.

The smile that quirked Sam's face should have made him nervous, but Hodgins didn't have time to react before Sam's fist struck his head.

Sam shook his stinging knuckles as he lifted an unconscious Hodgins and draped him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

Sam walked through the garage to the access elevator, swiping Hodgins' card to call the elevator. There was a security camera aimed at the elevator doors, Sam made sure to show his face and make it clear what the lump over his shoulder was on tape. It was the best he could do to offer him an plausible deniability. He was determined to get Dean back, but if Sam could help it, he wasn't going to bring Hodgins down just to get Dean's body back, and he shuddered as that thought ran through his head.

Once inside the lab, Hodgins began to come round on Sam's shoulder. Setting him down, propped up against the hallway wall, Sam waited for him to gain consciousness.

"Aw, hell. Why does my head feel like someone curb-stomped it?"

"Sorry about that. Had an idea to get you passed the cameras without incriminating you. Do you trust me?"

"Marginally less since you just punched me in the face." Hodgins rubbed his temple, already feeling the formation of a hard lump.

"Just follow me lead, there are cameras everywhere around here so we gotta put on a good show," Sam explained and slowly pulled out a wicked-looking knife. It looked like a long serrated hunting knife, but its curved edge and engraved symbols made Hodgins think that there was much more to the knife than he could glean from just looking at it.

"What are you going to do with that?" Hodgins asked him nervously. His throbbing head reminding him that Sam was still as unpredictable as he had been the last time he saw him.

Sam scoffed a little and grabbed Hodgins' arm. "Just put on a good show, and look scared for the cameras." At that Sam swung Hodgins in front of him and pressed the knife carefully to his neck.

"Okay woah!" Hodgins exclaimed, grabbing Sam's hand. "What the hell do you think you are doing?"

Sam rolled his eyes, "Jack, you're my hostage, or my unwitting accomplice. You're only helping me get my brother because I have a knife to your throat. Otherwise you'd never help such a wanted criminal escape justice, right?"

"That makes a lot more sense than I thought it would," Hodgins said with a slight nod. He let go of Sam's hand and relaxed visibly.

"Yeah but don't look so nonchalant about it, I do have a knife to your throat remember," Sam explained.

"Oh right." Hodgins lifted his shoulders and began breathing quickly. "Please don't kill me, Sam. I have a son. Please don't kill me!"

Sam rolled his eyes at Hodgins' dramatic performance. "You do realize that these cameras don't have microphones in them right? So they can't tell what your saying."

"Yeah but I look like I'm talking all scared and nervous. Don't critique my performance, Sam. Let's just get moving. You never know who could be working late."

Sam nodded and urged Hodgins forwards. Hodgins subtly steered Sam so it looked like Sam already knew where he was going. Which he kind of did, but the complex was much larger than he had anticipated and the schematics he had been able to find obviously didn't adequately describe scale.

Hodgins led him around through a set of glass doors leading into the main lab. Sam saw the examination platform and lowered the knife from Hodgins' neck. Sam pushed him roughly to the side, and pointed the knife menacingly at him, hoping that it would look like he was still in control of his captive.

The two began walking towards the platform when a voice made them freeze.

"Stop right there, Sam!" Sam and Hodgins froze mid-stride to the sound of a SIG-Sauer P226 slide cocking back. Hodgins dropped his head and raised his hands, slowly turning around to face Booth.

Sam stood stock-still. His eyes had found what he had driven all this way for: Dean. He was unrecognizable. More like a prop for a mummy movie. Sam turned his head away, not wanting to look at his brother's remains again. He faced Agent Booth, hands hanging loosely at his sides, shoulders sagged, and face desolate, but Sam's eyes burned with grief and anger. He stared down the man that had taken his brother from him.

Booth trained his weapon on Sam, watching him carefully. "What are you doing Hodgins?" He demanded without taking his eyes off of Sam.

Brennan ran in behind Booth, but stopped short when she saw Hodgins with his hands up. "Hodgins?" she asked disbelief and dismay weighing down her voice.

"Look, I can explain," Hodgins started to say before Sam grabbed Hodgins and pulled him in front of his chest.

Sam pressed the knife to Hodgins' neck, "Put the gun down, Booth. You don't want to lose Jack do you?"

Sam's sudden turn startled Hodgins so much that he was sure that the surprise on his face looked like fear.

"Booth, I didn't let him in, he threatened—"

"Shut up," Sam hissed. Pressing the knife alarmingly close to Hodgins' vein.

Sam was about to start an improvised hostage negotiation when a high-pitched screeching whine shook everyone's focus. Sam stepped back from Hodgins clapping his hands over his ears, groaning in pain.

Glass began to shatter as the whine got louder and louder, Hodgins and Sam ducked near the wall, covering their ears as Booth dropped his gun and clapped his hands over his own ears, pain twisting his face. Sam could feel warmth leaking out of his ears and chanced moving his hand from his ear. It was blood.

Sparks began to dance around the platform, centering on Dean's body. Sam watched in shock as electricity bathed his brother's decomposed form. Then a concussive blast knocked everyone to the ground, unconscious.

* * *

Hell was dark and loud. Screams, laughter, and cries for mercy were the only sources of music. If you listened hard enough, the cacophony of pain did have a sort of melody to it and a rhythm paced by racing hearts both fueled by the fear of the tormented and by excitement of the tormenters

Dean was enjoying this cacophonic symphony when heat seared through his shoulder. He cried out in confusion as everything around him began to fall away. Flashes of white light, excruciatingly bright, pierced through the dark until the light consumed him. It burned, igniting every nerve in his body in a way that Dean had never experienced, and Dean had gotten in close acquaintance with his nerves. Then everything went black.

Dean sucked in a desperate breath, lungs rattling and burning. Sitting up, he coughed, trying to clear his airway. Dirt and smoke hung in the air in the ruins of something, Dean wasn't sure what. He looked down at his body, taking in that he was whole and intact.

Sparks of electricity startled him from his self-examination. A building lay in ruins around him. It looked like Dean was at the epicenter of an explosion. Glass shards were scattered around the floor from the giant skylights that had been blown out. The night air cooled the room and trapped a slight breeze, it made Dean shiver. He had forgotten what cold felt like.

A groan from the ground below the platform caught Dean's attention. Four figures lay motionless on the floor. One, a particularly large one, was starting to come round.

Dean swung his legs off of the table and made his way, carefully avoiding debris. He stepped over a broken TV monitor and carefully hopped over fallen support beams to reach the steps that led down to the figure. All it took was for Dean to see the long hair and gargantuan proportions for him to realize that that figure groaning on the ground was his baby brother.

Dean sucked in a disbelieving breath, and ran towards his brother. The brother that he had sacrificed everything for, the brother that he never thought he'd see again.

* * *

"Sammy?" A rough voice accompanied with similar hands shook him back to consciousness. Sam opened his eyes to see his brother's face.

_I'm dead, I must be dead._ Sam immediately thought through his shock, but falling glass and sparking wires drew his attention. He was still in the lab. Hodgins was on his stomach next to him, eyes still closed.

Sam's eyes shot back to the form of his brother, pushing him roughly off of him. "You're going to regret taking his face, you son of a bitch."

The demon wearing Dean's face held up his hands and backed away, a cautious smile creeping up the corners of his mouth.

"Sammy, it's me," it said with a nervous laugh. "I have no freaking clue how, but it's me, really."

Sam's anger boiled even hotter, adrenaline burning like acid in his veins. He launched himself at the demon.

Dean dodged his brother's assault just in time, but luckily Sam's movements were just as sluggish as his, otherwise Sam would have taken him easily. He had to get through to him somehow.

"Sam!" Dean cried between blocked blows. He never attempted to land his own, but waited for an opening that came when Sam's hits became more desperate and emotion-fueled. Sam left his middle wide open after a blocked punch, and Dean form-tackled him to the ground. Sam was ready for him however, and used Dean's momentum to flip him over and sat on his chest, wrapping his hands around Dean's throat.

"Would you let me talk?!" Dean gasped, through the pressure on his neck

Sam's eyes burned with fury. He removed one hand from Dean's throat and reached into his jacket to get out the demon knife, but immediately grew still as cold metal pressed against the back of his head.

"Both of you freeze," Booth said through gritted teeth. Blood was dripping down the side of his face from a cut on his temple and from his ears.

Sam lifted his arms slowly. Dean gasped a painful breath through his burning throat. Sam slowly stood up and turned towards Booth, resigned anger on his face. Dean coughed and clutched at his throat, gasping in painful amounts of air. He slowly raised himself into a sitting position, his body already aching and bruised.

Hodgins face lit up with happiness when he recognized the figure on the ground, but Brennan's pulled into absolute disbelief and awe. Her eyes jumped to the ruined platform noting that the table Dean's body had been, still upright while everything else was destroyed, was empty.

"What the hell?" Booth asked in disbelief when he saw Dean's face, his gun nearly dropping. "You're dead."

Dean tilted his head in agreement, "You're telling me."

Sam turned his head and glared at what he thought to be demon with absolute hatred.

Booth caught the quiet and slow movement of Sam's hand to his jacket. "Woah there, Sam." Booth slid his gun from its trained place at Dean. "I said don't move."

"That's not my brother, Booth. It's a demon, I have to kill it." He said through gritted teeth.

Dean looked over to his brother with concern, "I know what it looks like Sam, but it's really me." He got to his feet, careful to keep his movements slow and clear. "Here hand me the demon knife, I know it's on you." He held out a bruised hand.

"Nuh-uh," Booth said. "Neither of you are going to move until one of you can explain what the hell just happened."

"Sam thinks I am a demon," Dean explained with a rough voice, it sounded like he hadn't had water in weeks. "I need to prove to him that I am really me, so I need that knife."

"Like I am going to hand that thing over to you," Sam said with a scoff.

"Fine!" Dean said with exasperation rolling up his sleeves and extending his arm out to Sam. "You do it."

Sam looked at Dean with incredulity, his eyes flicking between Dean's arm and his face. His eyes grew and his face paled as hope flared in his chest.

_Why would a demon want me to do that?_ He thought as he slowly reached into his jacket pocket. _If he isn't a demon, oh god, if it's not a demon, then it has to be Dean. Really Dean._

As his hand wrapped around the bone hilt of the knife, it began to shake, from his nervousness or the tightness with which he held it, Sam wasn't sure, but he took a hold of 'Dean's' wrist. It was warm and it felt like _Dean_. Sam's heart pounded as he lowered the blade to Dean's forearm.

Dean took a breath to steady himself, he was all too familiar with the feeling of a blade on his skin. The glint of the blade sent a flash of memories to his mind, screams of the tortured and laughter of the torturers echoed in his raw ears. A hiss escaped his lips as his brother dragged the blade across his arm. Sam's tightening grip on his wrist brought him back to the present. A scarlet line oozed and dripped down his arm to his hand.

Sam looked at the blood in shock then looked back up to his brother's face, truly seeing it for the first time. Dean was tired, Sam could tell, it looked like he hadn't slept in months.

"Heya Sammy," Dean said with half of a smile.

"Dean," Sam gasped and pulling the wrist he held, he wrapped Dean in a tight hug.

Dean sighed and returned the hug tighter than his brother did, clutching at the back of Sam's jacket and chanting in his head, _This is real, this is real, this is real_. Because he was afraid that it wasn't. That he was still in Hell, and Alistair had decided that he wanted to torture Dean even after—No he wasn't going to think about that now, or ever. Dean had Sam back, Dean was alive, and that's all that mattered.

"Does someone wanna explain to me what the HELL is going on?" Booth shouted in frustration. Blood dripped from a cut on his hairline, it stung his eyes and made it hard to focus on the two brothers who seem to defy death in ways Booth didn't think possible.

Hodgins ran in between Booth's gun and the Winchesters. He looked excitedly between them. "Booth, I told you that these guys were the real deal!"

"People don't come back from the dead," Booth shook his head, his gun shaking slightly. All of his life he was raised in a religion that celebrated a resurrected savior. It was all so much easier to accept when it was just in the Bible. Not in front of him. Not a man, living and breathing where he was once lay decomposing on an examination table. It was too much, even for him.

"Booth is correct," Brennan said unsteadily. She too was trying to rationalize the completely illogical situation in front of her. "This can't be real."

Dean lifted his arms as if to show off that he was in fact alive. "Well yesterday, I wouldn't have been able to disagree with you because, ya know, I was dead."

Sam glanced at Dean and then to Booth's gun. It made him achingly nervous to have a deadly weapon pointed at the brother that he just got back.

Dean took a step towards Brennan and Booth, hoping that if they could touch him, she would realize that he was in fact, alive, and hopefully it would make Booth lower his gun. It was starting to make Dean uncomfortable. Booth's gun sharply trailed Dean. Sam reached out and grabbed Dean's arm and pulled him backwards.

Hodgins reached towards Booth and slowly pushed the gun down. He shook his head at Booth and said in a low voice, "Let's not shoot anyone right now, okay? Let's just get out of here before people come in to try to figure out what the hell just happened. We can talk about why Dean isn't dead somewhere else."

Hodgins could tell Booth didn't like it, but he holstered his weapon and glanced over to the Winchesters, a wary eye watching their every move. "Alright. I would rather not have to explain that a dead suspect just came back to life right before my eyes. Sam, Dean I am going to take you back to FBI HQ, I should be arresting you anyway but all of this fucking mess is making it a little hard to figure out who you two are."

"Why should we trust that you just aren't going to arrest us when we get there?"

"I could handcuff you and take you there by force and then formally arrest you. Either way the only way you're getting out of this building is with me."

Sam and Dean looked to each other and shrugged. There really was no better option.

"Who's driving?" Dean asked with a sardonic smirk. Booth rolled his eyes and began walking around the debris towards the exit. Brennan followed close behind Booth, but kept a wary eye on the Winchesters following a step behind with Hodgins.

Walking next to Booth, Brennan began to ramble. "It's impossible. It defies all logic and physics and biology and practically everything else in the world. I can't accept this, Booth. I just can't," Brennan shook her head and turned around. She just couldn't look at Dean anymore. With the amount that the world was making sense right now maybe, just maybe, if she turned her back, the man who once took up residence on her examining table would disappear and the world would set itself right again.

Dean scoffed at Brennan proving that he was still there and that the world was still in chaos and nothing made sense. "Well, sister, you are in for a whole heaping lot of denial. 'Cuz the world that has just been opened to you isn't going to deny that you exist just because it doesn't fit with how they see the world."

"You were basically dried skin and bones. You're organs were completely decomposed. There was no liquid or any sort of living tissue in your body. It is scientifically impossible."

"Like I said, new world. Magic doesn't really follow the same rules as science. You can deny it all you want Dr. Brennan, but it won't change the evidence right in front of you."

Dr. Brennan turned and carefully considered the man following her. She realized that she had two choices: she could believe that he was back from the dead and that all of the science that she had devoted her life to was wrong, or she could figure out how Dean faked his death and put a genetically and structurally identical double in a grave. Brennan smiled to herself, _I see you, Dean Winchester, and you can't outsmart me. I will figure out how you did it._

Dean shifted uncomfortably under Brennan's gaze. It was like she was tearing off every layer of secrets he had guarded himself in and was trying to see everything he was hiding.

Hodgins noticed Brennan's icy glare, and tried to change the subject.

"How the hell did you get out?" It was a question that had lit in the back of everyone's mind, but Hodgins was the only one to voice it. It was meant to be a lighter change in subject, but its effect was completely unexpected.

The sardonic smile that had played on Dean's lips fell when Hodgins, Booth, Brennan, and Sam all turned and looked at him expecting an answer. Dean looked at Sam but didn't say anything. They reached the car and Dean got in the backseat without a word. The others followed suit and sat in silence that no one was willing to break for fifteen awkward minutes.


	8. Chapter 8

"You three, in there," Booth ordered as he pushed Sam, Dean, and Hodgins into the conference room.

Hodgins looked at Sam and Dean. "At least it isn't the interrogation room," he said with a hopeful shrug of his shoulders. Sam and Dean, in complete sync, rolled their eyes and turned away from the door.

"How do you explain it, Bones?" Booth asked, disbelief lifting his words.

"I can't say for sure, but for one thing I am ruling out resurrection. It is a completely absurd notion."

"But you saw what I saw," Booth stated.

"I saw what looked like the beginning of a Vegas magic show. A lot of bright lights used to throw our attention elsewhere."

"But what kind of magic trick could have made us bleed from our ears before knocking us out with that kind of a concussive blast?" "I've been near explosions, incendiary and flashbang grenades, none of them ever affected anyone like that. I'm serious, Bones, something isn't natural here."

"Booth I know you want to believe in the mystical and the supernatural, but it is just a trick." "These men are dangerous, and I am not going to let them trick you."

"I need to go over their case files," Booth mused. He hoped that something in their files would help him understand what he just saw.

"Yes! Didn't you say that they had a habit of faking their own deaths? Maybe if we look at the way they did it previously we can find their pattern."

Booth nodded but looked after Bones as she left the room to retrieve the files, which she couldn't access so he would have to chase after her, but for a moment Booth just sat and tried to wrap his mind around the unbelievable turn his night had taken. "It just doesn't make sense."

* * *

"So, Dean, I never did get to ask you, hellhounds?"

"Yeah," Dean admitted with a grimace. "Not pretty. Those sunsabitches are freakin' scary."

"Were you hunting it?"

Dean scoffed, "More like it was hunting me."

Hodgins stopped. That didn't make sense to him. "But don't they only go after people who sell their souls?"

Hodgins saw Dean lift his shoulders. "Like I said, it was hunting me."

Realization hit Hodgins like a battering ram. "_You_ sold your _soul_? Why the hell would you do that?"

"He did it for me," Sam interjected. He could see Dean's tension rise. They both liked Jack, and they all owed their lives to each other, but Dean was obviously not in the sharing mood at the moment.

"He sold his soul for you? Why?"

"I died," Sam said matter-of-factly like it was common knowledge.

Hodgins sat heavily in one of the plush chairs rounding the large table. "Seriously?"

Sam scoffed, "Yeah. I literally got stabbed in the back. Not fun."

Hodgins turned to Dean, who had retreated to lean against the far wall. Dean stood with his arms crossed and looked at Sam with a severe expression.

"You died for Sam?" Hodgins rubbed his chest absentmindedly. He remembered Dean's corpse. He could still see the slashes that had cut through Dean, cutting out his soul and dragging to eternal torture. Hodgins sat in shocked realization that Dean had chosen that ending rather than living in a world without Sam.

"How did you get out? I mean your soul was in Hell, right?" "How did you get out?"

Dean didn't answer; instead he tilted his head, as if he was motioning for Sam to elaborate on something. Sam was confused.

"What?" Sam asked, "It wasn't me if that's what you're thinking."

"Oh Sammy, that's exactly what I'm thinking," Dean said in a low and serious voice. Hodgins suddenly felt very uncomfortable, like he was interrupting a very private discussion, but he couldn't bring himself to leave.

Pushing himself off of the wall without his arms, Dean said in a low voice, "What did it cost?"

"It wasn't me, Dean," Sam repeated. "Trust me, I tried. I tried everything I could, but nothing worked."

"Then what pulled me out?"

"I don't know," Sam looked at Dean and realized, "You don't believe a word I'm saying do you?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "I just want to know what it cost you. Was it your soul or something worse?"

"I tried to get you out, Dean. For months, for MONTHS!" He exaggerated the last word, the desperation of the last four months finally alive in his voice. "I tracked down every crossroad demon I could find, but none of them would deal. You were in Hell, and I couldn't stop it. Dean, I tried. I am so sorry, but I couldn't stop it."

Dean could see it all written on Sam's face. The fear, the desperation, and the regret made it clear, Sam didn't do this. He reached out and grabbed his brothers shoulder, "I believe you, Sammy."

"Then I guess that's where we have a problem," Hodgins piped up, inserting himself back into the conversation. "If Sam couldn't figure out how to pull you out of hell, then what did?"

"whatever it was, it sure was powerful,"

"Yeah, resurrecting you practically decimated the lab," "So are we thinking some über demon?"

Dean absently rubbed his left shoulder. For some reason it had been aching since his resurrection, but there was time for figuring that out later.

Dean shook his head, "I have absolutely no clue. I mean I would have said that it was a demon. The only kind that I would even think would have that power would be a crossroads demon." He looked at Sam. "I mean one brought you back, so they obviously have the juice."

"Yeah, sure, but did bringing me back do that to that shack?"

"No but it could have bee the fact that I no doubt looked like some thriller-video reject."

"Oh you definitely did," Hodgins scoffed, but his eyes were empty of humor.

Sam watched with concern as Dean absently rubbed at his shoulder again. He had been doing so off and on since they had gotten to the FBI. "Hey Dean, is your shoulder okay? You keep massaging it like it hurts."

"Yeah Sammy, I'm fine. It's just sore. Probably from our little tussle."

"I didn't hit or twist your shoulder. You sure you don't want me to take a look?"

"Would it make you shut up about it?" Dean sighed and nodded. He angled his shoulder at Sam and watched with feigned annoyance as Sam looked at his shoulder.

"It's more like my skin hurts, like an old wound has been irritated."

Sam crinkled his brow in concern. "Take your shirt off. Let's see if the skin looks irritated."

Peeling the long sleeved shirt off his shoulder, Dean whined, "Great, so a demon brings me back to life only to give me Eczema."

Sam pulled up the sleeve of Deans tshirt and let out a shocked breath, "Holy crap."

Dean's eyes shot over to his arm, "Gaah." Was all the sound that Dean made. He jerked back from Sam and twisted, trying to get a better view of the angry welts that blistered on his arm.

"It looks like a handprint," Hodgins said in shock.

"It's like what ever pulled you out left it."

"Or rode me out," Dean said gravely. He cradled his arm and stared at the marks. Looking at it, he had a sense of serious foreboding. Like their next big bad had just marked him like a rancher brands his cattle.

"We should call Bobby," Sam said. "If anyone will know what's happening, Dean. You know it will be him."

"We will, Sam, but you're forgetting something that's a bit more pressing."

"What is more pressing than figuring out what brought you back to life?"

"How about the FBI agent and his partner that are outside this room right now trying to throw us back in jail. I just got sprung from one prison. I'm not going to another."

"Right." Sam agreed, but stopped as a question popped into his mind. "Hey, Dean."

Dean was beginning to pace around the room. He glanced at his brother. "Yeah, Sammy?"

Sam took a moment to figure out how he wanted to ask his question. He wasn't really sure he wanted to know the answer. "What was it like?"

"What, Hell?" Dean asked raising his eyebrows. "I don't know."

"What?" Sam asked, surprised.

"I don't remember a damn thing," Dean admitted with a sigh.

Hodgins watched Sam close his eyes and nod, peace relaxing the tension that had built in his shoulders. Dean, on the other hand, turned away from Sam, and Hodgins could just see a haunted look come over Dean's face. It was like a mask had fallen for just a second and all Hodgins could see was the face of a man that absolutely remembered Hell, but there was no way he was going to call Dean on that lie.

"Well thank god for that," Sam said with a heavy breath of relief.

Dean turned back around and gave Sam a half smile.

* * *

"Booth, look at this," Brennan called. She had a file in her hand and a smile of realization on her face. "They've done this before."

"Done what?" Booth asked, grabbing the file. He scanned it briefly.

It was a case file from St. Louis, Missouri. The first time that Dean Winchester had shown up on the fed's radar, but his demise at the hands of one of the potential victims closed the case… momentarily.

"They had a body," Brennan explained. "A body that matched Dean's. Just like we did."

"Okay, that's a little weird. I mean I had heard that they liked to fake their deaths, but I had never read the case file."

Brennan pulled a file from the desk behind her. "This is what led me to that first file. Sam and Dean were arrested in Milwaukee, and there is a request to exhume a body in St. Louis that was supposed to be the very much alive Dean. Which led me to that case right there." Brennan pointed to the file iin Booth's hand. "They said he killed four women. Beat and tortured them to death in their own homes."

Booth shuddered, but shook his head. "It just doesn't make sense."

Brennan looked up from the file that held the proof, or so she thought, that Dean Winchester had not performed an act that redefined the laws of nature. Her brows furrowed. "How does it not make sense? They have precedence for the same thing that just happened. Just this time they set up a slight of hand performance to create shock and awe." Brennan set the file down and grabbed Booth's arm. "That's all it was, Booth. A trick."

"I don't know," he admitted. "Sam and Dean were already dead. There was no reason for them to have a fake body that would make it seem like he was dead. He was already dead. The grave wasn't easily accessible, so it's not like they put it in a high trafficked area where it would be found quickly." Booth listed all of the things that had been nagging at him since Dean had come back.

"You said it was less complicated for Dean to have faked it, but really I think it seems less complicated if he actually was resurrected."

"You can't be serious, Booth!" Brennan exclaimed.

"How did you do it?" Brennan asked as she barged into the conference room.

"Do what? Come back? Yeah we were trying to figure that out here too," Dean answered, waving his hand and motioning to Sam and Hodgins.

"No," Brennan spat as she backed Dean into a corner. "You're going to tell me right now because you nearly have my partner believing your ridiculous story."

"Well your partner is clearly the smart one," Dean said offhandedly.

"Uh Dean, I wouldn't say that," Hodgins warned in a low breath.

"You know what screw this," Dean cursed as he pushed past Brennan.

"Where are you going?" Brennan asked forcefully.

Sam could see the anger rising in Dean's face. He took a moment to collect himself before he answered, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Ya know for being dead for four months, I really need to piss. Where's the bathroom?"

"Brennan," Booth warned in a low voice. He could also see Dean's rising tension. These men were known to be unpredictably. He didn't think Dean would hurt her in front of everyone, but everyone seemed really tense and Booth didn't want to push it.

"You seriously would believe this?" She asked disbelief and frustration edging her voice. "What is that?" Brennan motioned to the scar peeking out of Dean's tshirt sleeve.

Dean sighed and pulled up the sleeve, revealing the angry welts.

"Where did you get that?" Brennan asked, astounded. She had seen, what she thought, was every injury conceivable, but a burning handprint was new to her.

Sam piped up when Dean didn't answer. "We think whatever brought Dean back left it."

Brennan huffed and tugged down Dean's sleeve in annoyance. "You really wont let that go will you?"

"Nope, now seriously can I go piss or what?" Dean asked in a clipped tone.

Booth gently grabbed Dean's arm. "I'll take you. Bones, stay in here with Hodgins and Sam."

Dean waited until he and Booth were out in the hallway before he spoke up. "You're partner's a piece of work."

Booth's grip on Dean's arm tightened. "She's probably right about you two, but something has just been eating at me about you and Sam's case. When I figure it out, we will put you behind bars."

"Is that why I'm not in cuffs right now?" Dean asked with a smirk. "Because something's been eating at you?"

Booth motioned to the door in front of them. "There's the bathroom. There are no windows or escapable ducts in there, so don't even think there is an escape in there."

"You have my brother, Booth. I'm not goin' anywhere without him and you know that."

Booth nodded, "I'll be out here. Make it quick."

* * *

Dean turned the faucet on cold and splashed some water over his face. The cold shocked his tired eyes. He looked into the mirror at his reflection. Only four months had passed and whatever had brought him back had done so perfectly, but Dean barely recognized himself. There was a haunted look to his eyes and a cruel curve to his mouth. Dean just hoped that Sam never learned where those changes came from.

Looking down at his torso, Dean flashed back to when the hellhound had torn at him, flaying his chest and ripping through his bones. He lifted his shirt and let out a surprised breath. Even though Dean knew that whatever had brought him back had healed him, and every scar that he had accumulated throughout his life, it was still a shock to see himself whole again. He could only imaging what creature had the power to undo what the hellhound had done.

Booth knocked at the door, "Hey, hurry it up."

"Yeah, I'm comin'," Dean called back. He turned the faucet off and took a breath to steady himself, but a high-pitched noise made him stop.

The noise grew and grew until it was nearly unbearable. Clapping his hands to his ears, Dean groaned in pain. The noise almost seemed to pulse in Dean's ears like it had power just in its sound. The mirrors shattered, and Dean quickly flinched away to avoid the shards flung across the tiled room. The fluorescent light bulbs exploded in a burst of light Dean crouched down, hoping to avoid the raining shard of glass.

Booth heard the commotion and burst into the bathroom. He saw Dean kneeling on the floor, glass littering the entire room. One of the fluorescent bulbs over Dean's head popped with a flash of light. Booth and Dean both flinched away from the falling glass.

"Dean!" Booth shouted but Dean didn't respond. Dean just continued to groan. Booth could see blood leaking down Dean's neck from under where his hands covered his ears.

Grabbing his arms, Booth hauled Dean out of the bathroom. As soon as they left the room, Dean let his hands drop from his ears. Booth let him sink against the wall of the hallway.

"What the hell happened?" Booth asked.

Dean heaved a heavy breath. He looked down at his hands and his eyes widened at the sight of his own blood. "I have no idea," Dean responded while touching his ears.

"There was this noise, this force," Dean described. "It was so loud. Didn't you hear it?"

Booth looked from Dean to the bathroom where the last remaining intact light bulb flickered dangerously. "Was it a high pitch noise?"

"You did hear it?"

"Not this time, but I did when you were resurrected, or whatever that was," Booth explained in shock. "What the hell was that?"

Dean wiped at the blood lining his neck. "I wish I knew."

Booth shook his head. "I have a feeling that we have entered territory that I'm gonna wish I never knew about," he admitted in a low voice, extending his hand to Dean to help him up.

* * *

"What the hell happened to you?" Sam asked,

"We're not really sure," Booth answered for Dean who was wiping at his bloody ears with a wet paper towel.

"You remember right before Dean showed up that loud noise that probably damaged our ears so we'll be deaf about ten years sooner than everyone else?"

Sam, Hodgins, and Brennan all nodded. "Did it happen again?" Brennan asked. Taking a not-so-obscure logical leap seeing how Dean's ears had been bleeding.

Booth began talking quickly, wanting to explain as fast as he could. "I leave him in the restroom for a couple of minutes and all of a sudden I start hearing glass shattering," Booth explains. "I open the door and there is Dean, crouching on the floor, bleeding from his ears, and getting rained on by the shattering mirrors."

"So you heard the noise too?" Brennan asked, slightly skeptical.

"No, but Dean's ears were definitely bleeding," Booth explained.

Brennan raised an eyebrow. "But you didn't hear the noise." It wasn't a question.

"Bones, I know what I saw," Booth defended. "He looked just like we did when that noise came the last time," he pointed to Dean's ears. "That blood is real. As were the mirrors and lightbulbs shattering on their own."

Booth didn't really understand why he was defending Dean from his partner, but Booth knew what he saw. That pain on Dean's face wasn't faked. He understood that the Winchesters weren't to be trusted, but the amount of unexplainable things that kept happening around them has started to take its toll. Booth now toyed with the idea that maybe, just maybe, there was some truth to what they have been saying all along. It's getting to the point that a supernatural presence in the world would explain what the hell was happening more than real life explanations. Booth had a feeling that he and Brennan's entire world was about to turn upside down.

* * *

**A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! Thanks for reading! A few more chapters to go. Let me know what you think! **


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